As we all know, our parents love us very much.

Sunlight flooded through the window when Tomas was sitting at the kitchen table, struggling with a literary classic. Not far away, the huge new tower blocks lined the road. The faint sound of cars was dimly heard.

His mother was chopping (切碎) tomatoes for their dinner as usual. Suddenly she said,

“You know, the thing I miss most is cooking a really hot salsa (辣番茄酱) with fresh peppers straight from the garden. That’s what I miss most about Mexico. But now I could only use this instead.” She sighed, waving a packet of chilli spice powder at him. Tomas looked up from his book in surprise. His mother had never talked like this about their old life before. He studied her now. She looked a little sad and swept the pile of chopped tomatoes into the cooking pot.

Watching his mother busy in the kitchen preparing dinner, Tomas thought about the insight his mother had given him into her feelings, and he realized that he felt the same way about leaving Mexico and coming to this new country now.

Tomas missed his old home and his mother missed Mexico, too. She had loved working in her market garden, selling the fresh vegetables that she had grown herself and then coming home to cook up huge, tasty meals for her family. Tomas’s stomach rumbled (饿得咕咕叫) at the memories.

He thought about how different things were for them now, living in this large, gray apartment where there was no garden and no friends visit to share their delicious meals.

He sighed. At least they were still able to speak regularly every night after dinner with his grandmother back in Mexico over the computer—Grandma! Rosa!

Suddenly Tomas had an idea.

A week later, a package arrived from Mexico.

He was fifteen years old and still on his father's farm. He loved his father. He had not known it until one day a few days before Christmas, when he had overheard what his father was saying to his mother. “Mary, I hate to call Rob in the mornings. He's growing so fast and he needs his sleep. If you could see how he sleeps when I go in to wake him up! I wish I could manage alone.”

“Well, you can't, Adam.” His mother's voice was brisk, “Besides, he isn't a child anymore. It's time he took his turn to help milk the cow.”

“Yes,” his father said slowly. “But I sure do hate to wake him.”

When he heard these words, something in him spoke: his father loved him! He had never thought of it before, taking the tie of their blood for granted. Now that he knew his father loved him, he got up, stumbling blind with sleep and pulled on his clothes.

And then on the night before Christmas, that year when he was fifteen, he lay for a few minutes thinking about the next day. He wished he had a better present for his father instead of the usual tie from the ten - cent store. He lay on his side and looked out of his attic window.

A thought struck him like a silver dagger. Why should he not give his father a special gift, out there in the barn (畜棚)? He could get up early, earlier than four O'clock, and he could creep into the barn and get all the milking done. He laughed to himself as he gazed at the stars. It was what he would do, and he mustn't sleep too soundly.

He must have awakened twenty times.

Back in his room he had only a minute to jump into bed, for he heard his father up.